


hg au (tbd)

by anticommute



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, M/M, also i'm....going to make chp 2 the fuckface chp, idk man there's just.....all....twelve....of them, so i guess just skip chp2 to avoid teh wyf, there's also sexing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticommute/pseuds/anticommute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>exo hg au. originally written summer 2013. partially. at some point i realised i had >15k of fic sitting in my folders. tadah. people die. literally WHAT'S ON THE TIN. yixing centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He's scared. He's so scared he doesn't think he's ever been this scared in his life before. He's so scared he can't hear himself think. Blood rushes through his ears and he has to remind himself to breathe. Breathe. Breathing is important. Breathing is living. Breathing is staying alive. Staying alive is.

Staying alive is what he needs to do.

The signal goes off. The signal has gone off. It takes him a moment to realise that the signal has gone off, and another to realise that everyone's running, and a third to recognise Jongdae before he's disappearing too.

He doesn't know where, he doesn't care where. Something in him tells him to run.

So he does.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

This year, they had been looking for volunteers. This year, they had been looking for heroes.

Zhang Yixing is no hero.

All he wants is to marry a nice girl, settle down, and raise a family. But then again, who doesn't?

And that, in the end, is why he offers himself up as a sacrifice. As a tribute. Or as a hero.

Because if it can be anyone, then why not him? There's a small part of him that whispers that he's being selfish, that he's just doing this because it makes him feel better about himself, but Yixing tries to pretend that part doesn't exist. He tries not to dwell on the faces his friends had made when he'd blinked and said "I'm going" as if he was announcing the weather, or commenting on the year's harvest. He doesn't have a girl yet. He has his dad, and he feels bad because he's all his dad has left, but his friends have promised they'll take care of him for him.

No one is dumb enough to think he'll be the one to win. And Yixing, well, Yixing is dumb, but not that dumb.

But - this is a small room at the end of a quiet hallway that Yixing had been surprised to even find, and this is another tribute with wide eyes and a careful smile, and when Lu Han asks him "so why are you here?", Yixing is surprised to find himself answering: "it'd be nice to win," instead of the _"I don't know"_ that's on the tip of his tongue.

 

These are the things that Yixing knew about Lu Han:

1) He was from _that_ district

2) Everyone had expected their tribute to look like a monster. He did not.

3) When it came to Lu Han, Yixing was seriously worried about the safety of the round-faced tribute whose name he'd kind of forgotten.

And that was about it.

Finding himself in a room alone with someone who was supposed to be a cannibal hadn't really been high on his list of Things To Do (to get ready to hopefully not die too quickly), and Yixing supposed it must have shown on his face.

Yixing had been taking a walk, the door had closed, his heart had almost jumped into his throat, and when he'd turned around, it had been Lu Han.

The other tribute smiled disarmingly. "Don't worry, I'm not going to eat you," he said.

Yixing chuckled nervously. "That's...I mean, I wasn't thinking about that." he cringed. Okay, so that was a lie. He sighed. "sorry," he said meekly.

Lu Han waved it aside. The room was entirely empty except for a stack of chairs in one corner, and Lu Han walked past Yixing towards them. Yixing couldn't help but stiffen when he passed. There was something that kept him on edge - maybe the whole "this might be the person to kill you" thing, and the "if he does he might even eat you" part didn't exactly help. Even if he'd just said he wasn't going to eat him.

"I can almost hear you thinking."

Yixing startled. Lu Han had taken two chairs and sat them on the floor, haphazardly facing each other. He was sitting in one and gestured at the other.

"Why?" Yixing asked. He sat down anyway.

"I thought it'd be nice to know each other," Lu Han said. He was pretty, and Yixing knew that this would be a point in his favour. Yixing was not pretty.

He frowned. "So you'll know how to kill me?" he hadn't meant to sound that blunt.

Lu Han just shrugged. "It goes both ways," he said, and it took Yixing a moment to understand what Lu Han meant.

Yixing had never been good at hunting, but from what he did know, he knew that it always helped to know your prey. Of course, Lu Han could lie, but so could Yixing. But, on the other hand:

"I don't think you're that scary."

For a brief second, Lu Han's eyes opened so wide, he resembled a deer in headlights like his name suggested. And then he smiled, those same eyes crinkling so deeply at the corners, it almost seemed like the lines would stay there. "I think I could help you," Lu Han said. "And I think you could help me too."

"But why me?" I’m pretty useless, Yixing didn't add, but he was sure Lu Han knew anyway.

Yixing watched as Lu Han's lips pressed into a thin line, the way his eyes flickered down, lids fluttering shut for a brief moment, before he suddenly found his gaze held by the other tribute's. "You looked nice," Lu Han said. He paused. "I think I can trust you."

"Only if I can trust you not to eat me," Yixing joked. Something flashed in Lu Han's eyes, and he swallowed. "I didn't mean that."

Because that something had been dangerously close to loneliness. Because that something had been a snowy night with no one looking for him, and it had been stepping off the train to more people he'd ever seen and not a single person he'd ever known. Because, Yixing realised, even though Yifan had come to talk to him and Yixing rather liked Baekhyun, when it came to Lu Han, there was that same layer of wariness that he'd had too. At least, until now.

He swallowed.

"You can trust me," Yixing said. He laughed, suddenly, bitterly. "Although I don't know how much help I’ll be."

Lu Han grinned, lips stretched wide and teeth exposed. "Let’s both try our best," he said, extending his hand.

Yixing grabbed it.

And was more than glad that Lu Han was (hopefully) on his side, because in that instant, what he saw in the other tribute was far less of a deer, and far more of a wolf.

 

 

It's his third day in the Capitol, and Yixing is no less lost than he was on the first. They have 'free time', whatever that means. No, he knows what it means. It means that they should be training, they should be honing their skills, they should be improving on the different ways they can kill each other, expound upon which they have been taught. He doesn't like to think about it, if he doesn't have to. So instead, when he can't find the room he'd been looking for, the one with all the trees and the rocks and where one was supposed to practice survival skills, he goes up.

It's his third day, but night has already fallen.

The view from the roof is vast. It's a wide expanse of lights. Part of him finds it breathtaking. The other takes it in with numb detachment. It makes him feel alone, alone like he had never felt before, at home in his District. 

He supposes that he isn't alone.

And he isn't.

The door opens as he stands at the edge of the railing, leaning so far over that his center of gravity nearly catches and flings him into a spiralling free fall. There is a night breeze, of sorts. One that feels like the rest of the Capitol. Stiff. Plastic. False. Because it is false. Everything is carefully controlled, nothing is left to the whims of nature. There is a slight night breeze because the owners of this building have deemed it to be so.

But - the door opens, and it takes him several moments before he wonders who it might be, and for him to turn. He recognises the other as another tribute - he can't quite recall the district. Six maybe, or Eleven. No, that's not quite right. Eleven is the neighbouring district, and he does not look like someone from a neighbouring district. No, that wasn't quite right either. He didn't sound like someone from a neighbouring district. It must have been Six.

"Hello!" The other gives him a jaunty wave, a grin that stretches from cheekbone to cheekbone, his cat like eyes disappearing in the smile. 

"Hullo," Yixing answers, carefully cautious. "You aren't training?"

"Neither are you," is pointed out. Yixing watches as the man walks up to him, but doesn't quite join him at the railing. Instead, he nods at Yixing, or rather, nods past him.

"It won't work, you know," he says.

Yixing blinks. "What won't?" he asks.

"Hm?" Eyebrows are raised, before Six grins again. "Oh, sorry, I thought you were up here to look for the easy way out of all this. You know, save us the trouble, get it over with, more immediate and less pain and all that."

Yixing feels his own eyebrows rise, arched in confusion.

Six just shrugs. "Never mind. Nice view, isn't it."

"Yes," Yixing answers after a long moment. "I guess so."

"District Ten, right? I'm District Six. Jongdae. Don't think we've properly met yet."

Yixing nods, shakes the offered hand. At least he'd been right about that. "Yixing," he says. And then - "I haven't really met anyone."

Six's eyes, Jongdae's eyes, twinkle in amusement. "You just got here and you've already developed a reputation for being a recluse. How's that like?"

"I have?" Yixing glances back at him, shakes his head. "I'm not used to so many people."

"Mmm, don't think many of us are." Jongdae steps up now, climbs over the railing as Yixing watches with some trepidation. "I came up here to see what it'd be like. If I jumped, you know."

Oh. Of course. Yixing remembers when the boys climbed the school house one year - one of them fell, and broke his arm. This is much higher up than the school house. This is much higher up than anything in District Ten and its wide expanses of fields. If you fell from here, there'd be much more than a broken arm. Maybe, you wouldn't even have to continue in the Games. They'd send someone else, though. That was just how it was. 

"I see," Yixing says, when he realises that he's left Jongdae hanging. Jongdae doesn't seem to have been waiting, or he doesn't seem to mind. He leans forward, a little, his hands clinging white knuckled to the railing. His fingers are thin, delicate. Fingers that look easy to break. 

Jongdae chuckles, leaning forward even further, before abruptly swinging back, hopping up to sit on the railing instead. His eyes remain fixed on the horizon, the lights that dapple the ground below a near mockery of the stars that are hidden above.

"It wouldn't work. They've set it up so it won't. In the old days, they used to put up nets. It was supposed to catch you when you fell. Or jumped. Not much difference. But people got creative - really, dying in the Games is nasty business, I don't blame them."

"Are you scared?" Yixing asks. "Of dying?"

"Sure," Jongdae says. "Who isn't?"

"I don't think I'd mind, too much." Yixing closes his eyes, briefly. He remembers the stars that he can't see here. He remembers, just a little, the lady who'd given them an orientation tour of the building, telling them about the force field that was set up outside each floor, a safety measure of course, one that could save so many lives. When he opens his eyes, there are no stars. Just a pair of curious eyes looking at him over a shoulder. 

"No one to go home to?" Jongdae asks.

Yixing bites his lip. "My father," he answers. "He said parents shouldn't have to bury their children."

"Mmm." Jongdae turns back to look over the city. "I've got a brother. But he has a girl, you know. And they're expecting a kid."

"You came so he wouldn't have to?"

Unexpectedly, Jongdae laughs, a short bark empty of amusement. "I’m not that altruistic. But someone has to."

There is a lull, brought upon by a wind that whisks words away, leaving a quiet stillness over the roof. Yixing supposes he could ask if Jongdae has a girl, or someone, or if his friends had told him not to go. He doesn't say that his friends had told him not to, to let someone else do it - doesn't say that their eyes were a little too relieved, a little too happy to properly echo the sentiment. It'd made him feel like he was doing the right thing. 

They all have their own reasons for being here. There's the Careers, the ones who've trained for this all their lives. There's those with people to protect, then those with nothing else to lose. Yixing doesn't know where he falls into. The third category, he guesses, the one where he woke up one day and thought "it could be anyone, it could be me," and before he could change his mind, had walked into the District Hall, and said he'd go. 

Him, a farmer boy from a district of farmers, and not enough victors to go around.

Maybe, he supposes Jongdae is the same way.

 

His mentor is waiting for him when he steps out of the shower, the day after he encounters District Six's tribute on the roof. He'd been training, learning to shoot a bow, not that he thinks it'll do him much good. The staff hadn't been much better - all he has to show for it is an atlas of bruises. He is, he supposes, rather hopeless. His best results has been with knives, throwing them, but it's still not something he excels at.

So when he sees Zhou Mi standing there when he walks out of the shower, Yixing's stomach plummets.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I don't think I'll get very far after all."

"What do you-- Oh, no, that's not what I came to talk to you about." Zhou Mi has a frown on his face, one that ages him beyond his perpetual claim of eighteen years of age. (Yixing knows for a fact that this isn't true - Zhou Mi is several years older than him, and Yixing left eighteen behind years ago.)

"It's not?" Yixing blinks, then grins sheepishly. "I guess you didn't see how badly I was doing then."

Zhou Mi's expression softens. "Not everyone starts out as a Career," he says. "No one knows what'll happen in the Games until it happens."

Zhou Mi would know this. Zhou Mi who is tall and gangly now, and who was tall and gangly when he'd been in the games, only with none of the muscle he's put on in the intervening years. Zhou Mi was not supposed to survive. He was most definitely not supposed to win. Zhou Mi, Yixing muses, has a point.

They say nothing more until they reach the elevators. Yixing is going back to his room. He supposes Zhou Mi is doing the same, because he hasn't said anything, or changed his direction. Yixing touches his wristband briefly to the panel, having already set his destination, the elevator immediately registering and acknowledging with a beep.

"You have to socialise," Zhou Mi says, once the door is closed. "Talk to people."

Yixing looks at him, then watches as the numbers on the elevator panel grow. "Did it help?" he asks softly. “For you?”

Zhou Mi's mouth forms the approximation of a smile, one that is grim and that Yixing has seen far too much as of late.

"Someone has to remember," he says. And then he shakes his head, and the forced smile is gone, replaced with something more resigned, less wooden. "Never forget that you're putting on a show. Alliances, betrayals... Friendships. That's important."

The elevator stops at the floor, and Yixing nods. "Make friends, then kill them. I see."

"Or someone else will," Zhou Mi says. He doesn't specify which, or both, and Yixing suddenly feels too tired to ask.

 

He runs into Lu Han the most often. Simply because he's District Ten, and Lu Han is from Eight. They're separated in the parades only by Nine, a tall, lanky, yet muscular boy with sharp eyes, that more often or not wanders off to speak to the boy from Five. The other tributes had all been wary of Eight, at first - they'd seen it, after all, previous tributes from Eight, during the games, eating those they'd killed, if they could manage, before the bodies were taken away. Lu Han had seemed different, less sharp, more woodland creature of prey than woodland creature of the hunting variety. Lu Han is also better at knives than Yixing is, better at hiding, better at the simulations. He knows that Lu Han had lost his parents, so it'd made sense for him to be the one to volunteer.

Or maybe he runs into Lu Han the most often, because Lu Han had told him that he thought he could trust Yixing, and Yixing knew that Zhou Mi was right, about alliances.

He doesn't know if this is an alliance, but it's not too bad, to have a familiar face in all this.

Sometimes, he simply watches Lu Han. Watches as he flits from tribute to tribute, person to person. Everyone seems to adore Lu Han. Sometimes, Lu Han hangs out with Five too. Five also seems to like Lu Han. 

"It's tiring," Lu Han tells him one night, as they're showering after a training session. "But my mentor said it's my best bet to appeal to the sponsors."

"Hm?" It takes Yixing a moment to understand that this is the continuation to an earlier conversation, one where he'd jokingly pointed out how well Lu Han got along with others. 

"Says that if I manage to live long enough, sponsors can turn the tables in a moment."

"I think my mentor was trying to tell me the same thing," Yixing says. "I guess I'm just not that good at making friends."

"Don't make friends," Lu Han says. The water on the other side of the wall turns off, and then Lu Han appears in front of him. There's a frown on his face, as water drips down from his hair. "You can't make friends, that's dangerous. It's every man for themselves."

"You can trust me," Yixing says instead - only it comes out a little more like a question, a lot less like a fact.

Lu Han disappears, and by the time Yixing walks out from the shower, Lu Han is dressed and long gone.

 

He remembers the train, he remembers meeting Zhou Mi’s eyes as his would-be mentor said “so it’s you,” in a way that Yixing will never quite forget. He remembers arriving at the Capitol, remembers the overstated decadence that had eclipsed even the train, the whirl of people he’d been handed through, to be cleaned and polished like a prized possession. He remembers, briefly, being paraded and remembers even more briefly meeting the other tributes. Doing moderately alright in front of the sponsors, better than he’d thought, but mediocre at best.

He remembers the training, and that he is here to kill, or be killed.

His lungs burn with effort, with fear, and he is suddenly very, very scared.

 

He skips the first three buildings he finds and ducks into the fourth, heading up to the highest floor and bunkering down in a room there. There's a lot of tables and chairs and just to be safe he piles some of them against the doors, even though he knows he'll have to leave soon.

But – he’s scared.

By the time his breathing evens out, he finds himself curled into a corner, the bag tucked to his chest. There's a warm trickle near his ankle, and he realises that in his hurry to get away, he must have scratched his leg on something. A dark rivulet of blood runs from a neat line halfway down his calf, and Yixing stares for a long moment before he bites his lips and closes his eyes.

 _Fuck_.

The thing is (and Yixing hasn't told anyone this and he doesn't want anyone to know) if he starts bleeding, it doesn't always stop. It'll stop eventually, but he doesn't have eventually.

A glint of light in a corner catches his eye, and Yixing turns slowly, only to see what he assumes is a camera. They're watching. Of course they're watching. If it was any other year, _he'd_ be watching. And more than ever, Yixing understands the importance of image. Things that Zhou Mi has spent the past weeks telling him finally click. No one wants a weakling. No one wants someone who can only lose.

He's not going to win - but that doesn't mean he'll lose.

With one last glance at the probable camera, something settles low in his chest and he takes stock of his surroundings. Blood continues to drip down his leg, but he does his best to ignore it as he turns and kneel to peer out the window. Although, from here, all he can see is into the building across from him. There's a flash of movement and twitching curtains, and Yixing ducks back down.

Everyone had been friendly enough before the games, but that was then. This was now. For all he knew, whoever that was, was coming for him.

With a sense of purpose, Yixing empties out the bag: a frying pan, and a first aid kit. He makes a face. Couldn't he have gotten a knife or something? The first aid kit contains a few simple bandages, a piece of gauze, and a bottle of disinfectant - nothing fancy, but it might come in handy. As long as he didn't get hacked open by a machete or something. He wasn't sure a couple of bandages was going to help that.

But, it was going to help stop the bleeding on his leg. Ripping open a package, he stuffed the wrapper back into the first aid kit as he pressed the strip against his skin. The ends of the cut still stuck out, but he'd live.

Sweeping everything together, Yixing noticed a small ball of twine he'd missed the first time. He wasn't sure how that'd help, but he still tossed everything haphazardly back in. He slung the bag over his back as he ran a mental list of everything he needed to do. Find Lu Han, preferably. Find some way to eat, to drink. And something that would work better as a weapon than...a frying pan. Maybe, if he was lucky, his district would send him something now that they'd seen what he had, but he wasn't counting on it.

Moving aside the barricade he'd made, Yixing peered down the hallway, and only headed out when he was sure the way was clear. 

He felt surprisingly clearheaded, despite the minor loss of blood. It was a good thing it was minor.

He wasn't sure what he'd do if it was major.

Turning his mind away from that, Yixing worked on keeping an eye and ear on his surroundings. Part of him reminded him how futile it was - half of his competitors had, if not trained for this, had been trained in something else. And what could he do? Farm.

Just before he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he heard footsteps.

His breath catching in his throat, Yixing reached around for the frying pan in his bag. At this point, it was better than nothing.

His heart pounded a staccato in his chest, breath catching in his throat as he pressed his back against the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, and realised too late that he shouldn't have done that - and opened them to a wide eyed Jongdae, a bloodied knife clutched in his hands.

Yixing backed away.

"I..." Jongdae said, but Yixing wasn't listening. He was putting space between them.

That was a _knife_. And there was blood on it. Whose blood? Were they still alive? Was Jongdae going to kill him? Did Jongdae kill _them_? Was he going to die?

And:

Could he kill Jongdae?

Before he had a chance to come up with the answers to his own questions, there was a guttural yell, as someone burst through the doors behind him, grabbing Jongdae by the midriff and taking him down. Yixing was frozen to the spot as the two figures tussled, before they pulled apart, and the knife was no longer in Jongdae's hand.

Jongdae swore and ran, but not before the knife flew through the air, catching Jongdae in the side. The other tribute stumbled, and Yixing could only watch as blood began to flow through the fingers Jongdae pressed against his wound, even as he disappeared out of the building. 

"Are you fucking daft?"

Lu Han's voice brings him back to reality. The tribute from District Eight stands in front of him, a streak of blood down his face, spots of red coating his hands. Yixing points.

"Are you...hurt?" he asks, but Lu Han just shakes his head and walks over to retrieve the knife.

"It’s not mine. I got him in the shoulder too," he says. He wipes the blade on his shirt - more blood. Yixing has never been too good with the sight of blood.

Lu Han grabs him by the wrist and is dragging him down the hall before Yixing gets a chance to protest.

"Why did you just stand there?" There's a flinty steel in Lu Han's voice that makes Yixing stop and pull his wrist out of Lu Han's grasp.

That was right. They were here to kill each other.

"He talked to me, before," Yixing says. He shakes his head. "I don't know." A pause, and then: "why did you help me?"

Lu Han rolls his eyes and continues dragging Yixing back down a hall. "If you're dead you can't help me."

Right now, Yixing doesn't feel like he can be a whole lot of help.

"You’re sure you're not hurt, right?" Yixing asks again, just to be sure. "I have some first-aid stuff. It's not much but..."

Lu Han shakes his head. "Leave it. It might come in handy later." He opens a random door and pulls them both inside, leaving Yixing to shut the door while Lu Han himself sinks down into a chair. His hands were shaking.

Without a word, Yixing sits down next to him and grabs Lu Han's hands in his. It's awkwardly forward, but he feels Lu Han still under his touch.

"I don't want to lose," he says. He looks up and meets Lu Han in the eye, who, to his surprise, smiles.

"Good, because neither do I," Lu Han says. He laughs. "Do you remember what you said to me when we first met?"

Yixing frowns. "I thought you were going to eat me," he admits.

Lu Han chuckles and shakes his head. "Never mind."

He stands up and hands the blade to Yixing, hilt first. "You should probably hang onto this," he says. Yixing hesitates.

"It’ll be more useful to you," he says, but Lu Han doesn't take it back. After a moment, Yixing wraps his fingers around the handle - it's still warm.

"Mm," Lu Han says. He crouches down and dumps out the contents of his bag. Yixing eyes the tangle of items with interest before he follows, the small plastic box containing the first aid kit and the ball of twine tumbling out. He's still holding the frying pan in his other hand, and he puts it down next to it.

"A whip, and two bottles of water," Lu Han catalogues. "A frying pan, a first aid kit, and twine."

"And a knife," Yixing adds, putting it down next to the frying pan.

"That’s for you," Lu Han says, but Yixing shakes his head and reaches for the whip instead.

Now this, this feels more familiar to his hands.

"I can use this," Yixing says, and for the first time since the game has begun, there's a genuine smile on his face.

"Good," Lu Han says as he throws everything into the two bags, and grabs the knife again like it fits into his hand. "Because you're going to need to."

And when Yixing looks up, the wolf is back.

 

 

The first night starts quiet.

"Everyone's too keyed up right now," Lu Han explains. "There's no point going hunting."

After the run in with Jongdae, they'd scored through part of the arena, skirting shadows and hiding their own. The difference compared to previous hunger games was that there were half the number of tributes - half the number of targets. They'd found a water source, and had decided to bunk down nearby for the night.

"Leading horses to water," Yixing comments.

"Hmm. I'll take first watch." Lu Han pushes a heavy desk in front of the door and sits down against the wall.

Yixing crosses his legs and sits next to him, and for the first time since he'd picked it up, Yixing uncoils the whip and puts it down next to him. "It’s still early," he says, and indeed, the sun is still high enough on the horizon that the world is still bright and yet unsuffused with the soft orange of dusk.

Lu Han shrugs, eyes trained through the window to the outside. "Fair enough," he says. "Then let's plan."

“Plan," Yixing repeats. He purses his lips. They'd tried to come up with a plan before he even set foot into the Capitol, but with Yixing's utter lack of skills, the best plan they had come up with was _hide, and hope they kill each other off before they get to you_.

"Maybe that'll work," Lu Han says. Yixing starts and blinks.

"Did I say—"

"That aloud? Yes." Lu Han's lips twist in amusement. He tilts his head back until it lightly taps against the wall. "We could, I don't know, set a trap, pick on someone, build a bomb."

Yixing frowns. "A bomb?"

"Sure." Lu Han shrugs. "Maybe if we're lucky, they'll even send us one."

Yixing stares at him for a long moment before he decides Lu Han is joking (probably).

"I’ve never set a trap before," Lu Han continues as if he'd never stopped talking. "But it doesn't seem that hard. We just have to trip them up for long enough to kill them."

"The twine?" Yixing suggests, and Lu Han nods.

"The question is, who's dumb enough to fall for it."

"We don't know where anyone is," Yixing points out, and is answered with another shrug. "What about...that tall guy."

"Yifan?"

Yixing shakes his head. "The other one. Chan something."

Lu Han chuckles. "I wouldn't underestimate that one," he says. "Chanyeol... No, he's not as dumb as he seems. You, on the other hand..."

Lu Han trails off, leaving Yixing to fill in the blank himself. Yixing is dumb. Yixing is dumb enough to fall into a trap. Lu Han's probably right.

"I like Yifan," he says instead.

Lu Han rolls his eyes. "You said that about Jongdae too."

"No I didn't," Yixing protests, and he's pretty sure he didn't, because he's not sure he can say he likes someone after they pointed a knife at him. "But I don't not like him."

"Is there anyone you don't not not like?" Lu Han asks.

Yixing pulls his legs up to his chest and rests his chin on his knees. There's Joonmyun from District One, a Career and a favourite with everyone. He smiles a lot. Then there's Chanyeol, who Yixing had never talked to but had laughed a lot, and Baekhyun, who'd been enveloped in an aura of light. Zitao was dark and intimidating, and younger than he looked. Yixing didn't fancy facing him in a fight. He looked like he knew what he was doing. Then there was Yifan, who'd talked to him and was tall and strong and...kind. Minseok, with an awkward smile and who seemed beyond harmless, and Jongdae, who'd talked to him. Then there were the two kids whose names Yixing can't remember, but hadn't struck him as dislikeable. He was vaguely sure that one of them was a Career too.

He shakes his head. "I wish we didn't have to kill anyone," he says, and then stops short. _We_? We as in, him and Lu Han, or, all of them? He shakes his head again, although whether to clear away the thought, or to emphasis his denial, even he couldn't be sure.

There's a lull in the conversation, and beside him, Lu Han mirrors his actions, tucking his legs up to his chest. For a moment, Yixing feels like they could have been friends: if Lu Han hadn't been from District Eight, and if, at the end of the day, one or both of them weren't going to be dead in a couple of days.

"Sehun," Lu Han says suddenly.

Yixing blinks. Oh, that's one of the people he'd forgotten. "You mean...?"

He trails off, but Lu Han must understand his meaning, because the other tribute nods. "Why be the prey when we can be the hunters?" a shudder runs down Yixing's spine, because he suspects that for Lu Han, "prey" is far more literal than Yixing would like it to be.

"But how do we find him?" Yixing wants to know.

Lu Han cocks his head to the side. "We'll figure something out," he says. He sounds a lot more confident than Yixing feels.

"Right," Yixing says. Sehun. Sehun had seemed harmless too. The thought of killing him leaves his throat dry. He's supposed to be sleeping, but he just swallows and hugs his legs a little tighter to himself instead.

 

 

 

Yixing is woken by a soft shake of his shoulder. He blinks, because he can't see, and he realises he must have fallen asleep, because it's night now and he doesn't remember it being dark. There is a shadow looming on top of him, and he sits up with a start and shoves -

"It's just me," Lu Han says, catching his wrists in his hands. 

Yixing smiles sheepishly. "I knew that," he says. Lu Han lets go, and he rubs his eyes. His neck feels awkward, probably because he'd fallen asleep leaning against the wall. "What time is it?"

Lu Han shrugs. "I don't have a watch," he says. He curls up on the floor using his bag as a pillow. "I'm going to sleep."

Yixing nods, and then realises Lu Han can't see him. "Okay."

Lu Han's breathing slowly evens out, and when Yixing is sure he's asleep, he stands up and stretches. Lu Han looks incredibly vulnerable like this - he looks easy to kill.

Yixing swallows the thought. It's a bad thought to have. Instead, he grabs the whip and hesitates, his hand hovering over the handle of the knife that lies next to Lu Han. He bites his lip, and reaches for the frying pan instead.

He just needs it in case he needs to defend himself. He doesn't need to kill anyone. Not yet.

The desk is heavy, and Yixing only moves it enough so there's enough space to open the door and slip outside. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and the hallway is empty. He can hear himself breathing.

Lu Han had picked a lounge on the first floor, because it was close to two doors, and there was a good view of the path leading up to them both from the windows. Now, Yixing clutches the whip in one hand and the frying pan in the other and heads outside. There is a night breeze, and it's just cool enough to make him wish for a sweater. He doesn't have a sweater. A sweater isn't important enough, and if the sponsors give him anything, it should be something like food. There are vending machines scattered around the campus, they’d raided one earlier, but they won't last forever.

Yixing leans against the building, his body hidden by a tree as he peers into the darkness. This is day one. The whip hangs loosely from his hand.

"You said you could use that," Lu Han had said, nodding to the whip. His eyes had been curious, and Yixing had shrugged.

"I grew up on a farm," he'd said. "We had horses."

Lu Han had stared at him, until Yixing had finally picked it up, and with a flick of his wrist, sent the whip curling through the air, the end catching the leg of a chair, sending it flying. He’d wished, then, that they’d included one in the training rooms for him to practice with. Yixing had smiled wryly. "I don't even know what to do with a knife."

Lu Han had crossed his arms at that point, hunching into himself. "Stick them with the pointy end," he'd supplied, and chuckled.

They'd talked for a while after that, just little things like how Yixing's mom had died a few years ago and how Lu Han had lost both his parents. They steer widely clear of District Eight's infamy, and Yixing feels better for it. He doesn't think Lu Han likes to talk about it. Lu Han doesn't seem to think it's a big deal. Yixing sort of gets it. He's sure they have habits and customs that other districts would think strange too.

There's a set of footsteps in the distance, and Yixing slowly backs up so he can get to the door if he needs to. He needs to warn Lu Han, but, maybe, they won't notice. He crouches down and holds his breath. He puts down the frying pan - he'd rather have his other hand free.

The figure walks closer, and he's tall. Not short, not District One or Baekhyun or Minseok. Not Yifan either, and this, Yixing is sure about.

The person suddenly stops, and Yixing swallows. He could kill them, here, maybe. That's one less person to worry about. He could choke them. With the whip. He could...

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Yixing frowns and stands. The person walks closer, and he realises with a jolt that it's Sehun. Could he have...

"I know you're there. I just...want to talk. I promise."

Sehun takes another few steps forward, holding up his hands to show they're empty.

"What..." Yixing's voice catches in his throat. This is probably a bad idea, but he's already spoken. "What about your pockets?"

Sehun turns to where Yixing is hidden in the shadows of the building, and slowly reaches into his pockets and turns them inside out.

"I might kill you," Yixing says. His voice is oddly steady. Sehun just shrugs.

"I’ll probably die first anyway," he says. He sounds resigned, and Yixing doesn't blame him. He wonders if Sehun knows that Lu Han wants to kill him first. Yixing keeps it to himself.

"What do you want?" he asks.

Sehun walks closer, and Yixing tightens the grip on his whip. The boy licks his lips, and he's so close now that Yixing can see his eyes and the way his lashes flutter. "I want you," he says, and Yixing's heart drops.

"I..." He swallows. "What do you mean?"

Slowly, slowly, slowly, the boy walks forward until there is no space between them, and his face is against his.

Yixing has never been kissed. Sehun kisses him.

Sehun's lips press against his, soft and damp, and there's a tongue against his mouth. Yixing's lips are parted in surprise, and Sehun's hands are on his chest. Sehun pushes him against the wall of the building, and the bricks dig into his back as Sehun moans into Yixing's mouth, and Yixing has never been kissed like this, because he's never been kissed, but his friends (friends he'll never see again) have told him what it's like and he's not sure if this is what it's like because his heart is pounding in his chest and in his throat and there is a boy who he needs to kill kissing him.

Yixing, well, Yixing does the only thing that makes sense. He pushes him away.

"Stop," he says. His voice cracks. "Don't. I...I don't want to."

Sehun is still too close. "I want to," he says. His voice is low and Yixing's pants suddenly feel uncomfortably tight. They are not tight pants.

"Don't," he repeats. "Just...just go away. Please."

But Sehun does not go away. Sehun, the boy who Lu Han had said they should kill first, drops to his knees in front of Yixing and pulls Yixing's pants down. Yixing grunts in surprise, and steps back, but there is nowhere to step back because his back is against the building. "Please..." he says again, and his voice is wavering. He doesn't understand.

"Be quiet, or someone will find us," Sehun warns, and Yixing knows he's right. If someone finds them, they could kill them both. If Lu Han finds them, Sehun will die. He doesn't understand what Sehun is doing. 

But Sehun seems to know what he's doing, because Sehun's mouth is against his cock, and Yixing moans, his head knocking back hard against the wall. Sehun's lips are hot against the head of his cock, and Yixing clutches instinctively at Sehun's hair. The whip is still in his hand, and this fact reassures him even as Sehun slides his mouth down the entire length of Yixing's dick.

"S-stop," Yixing says, but it's useless, because Sehun does something with his tongue and his mouth and Yixing is groaning and his hips buck upwards without warning. At least, some part of his mind supplies, he won't be dying a virgin.

Sehun pulls back, and the cool air hits his dick like a slap, and Yixing doesn't know whether he should take the opportunity to push Sehun back or--

He doesn't get a chance, because Sehun's tongue flicks at the slit, and Yixing thrusts forward. _Stop,_ he thinks. _I don't want to do this_ , he thinks. But he only moans, and there is too much heat pooled and coiled at the base of his stomach for him to contain, and he comes wordlessly, breathlessly, and his dick twitches, and he slumps boneless against the wall.

There are long minutes as he catches his breath and the world seems to swim, and Yixing knows that this is not the place for this, and there is a part of him that wants to sit down and curl up and pretend none of this is real. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe this is all a dream.

But this isn't a dream, and Sehun is standing there, and even in the darkness, Yixing can see his come on the boy's face. The boy's expression is bland, disinterested, like he didn't just have his lips around someone's cock who might want to kill him, or who he might want to kill. Instead, he wipes his arm over his face. Sehun looks at him, for a long, long moment. Yixing wants to say something, but there is nothing for him to say.

By the time he can force words out of his mouth, the boy has turned around and walks away. He could call out to him. He doesn't. He watches him walk away. He watches him disappear into the dark, watches as his shadow merges into the shadows, and only then does he fall to his knees, his fingers digging into the dirt.

Yixing loses track of how much time he spends like that, but even if he had known, it was a time that no one cared about. Quietly, alone, he pulls his pants back up and does up the fastener wordlessly, woodenly. Even before he stands, he knows that he won't tell Lu Han about this.

Instead, he reaches for the frying pan, and the whip he'd dropped at some point, and walks back inside.

-

A few hundred meters away, Sehun walks to where they'd agreed to meet. Zitao is waiting for him, the other tribute twirling a knife between his fingers. Zitao looks at him, and Sehun knows that if he wanted to, Zitao could kill him. His eyes are dark and piercing, even through the gloom of night.

Sehun swallows, and is glad that Zitao does not want to kill him. "I found them," he says. "I found Eight and Ten."

 

 

The plan, when it comes down to it, is simple.

"I saw Sehun last night," Yixing tells Lu Han when he wakes up. The sun has yet to rise, but the steadiness of days is already starting to melt away.

Lu Han hums wordlessly to this, tracing a finger along the dull side of the blade. He looks like he's thinking, so Yixing only crouches down next to him, wrapping his arms around his legs. He tucks his chin between his knees.

Lu Han hands him a bottle of water. "He won't be far," he says, as he presses his palms against his thighs and stands.

The twine, when it comes down to it, is almost invisible. It's why Yixing hadn't noticed it at first. But at the same time, it's strong enough not to break easily. It's strong enough to tangle someone up for long enough to stick a knife through their back. 

Yixing is bait, because he looks harmless. "You look easy to kill," Lu Han says. The risk, Lu Han says, is that they catch a shark instead of a fish, but it's one they'll take.

"To be honest," Lu Han says, as they head out the door, "I'd rather die doing something than waiting for someone to kill me."

Yixing hesitates. "I don't want to die," he finally says.

Lu Han shrugs. "May the odds ever be in your favour."

 

-

 

But these are the Hunger Games, and it takes only a split second for the hunters to become the hunted, for the predators to become the prey.

Because while Yixing may have seen Sehun, he never saw Zitao coming.

-

He hears Lu Han's scream first.

"Look out!"

Yixing is chasing after Sehun when he looks back - it's Zitao, and he snarls, and behind him is Lu Han - and he twists a little too much and stumbles, comes crashing to his knees, and thinks, a little too consciously, that this is it.

Instead, the knife flies over his head and clatters harmlessly against the tiles. Some ten paces ahead, Sehun turns around, and gone is the impassive child from the night before. Yixing scrambles to his feet, flicking the whip in his right hand desperately even as he hears Lu Han crash into Zitao behind him.

Yixing was supposed to be the bait, but, he realises with a sinking heart, that he'd been the one baited instead. Kicking free of the twine, he yanks the whip back when he notices that it'd missed. He stumbles backwards, taking stock of the situation: Lu Han and Zitao are a tangle of limbs as they fight for arms around necks and fists in stomachs, while Sehun watches him warily.

The knife glints by Sehun's foot, and he's not sure if Sehun has noticed. Swallowing the fear that threatens to creep up his throat, he takes a careful step towards Sehun. Sehun, matching his movements, takes a slow step back.

The kid's scared too. With all the memories of childhood winters, Yixing skims the whip through the air, curling the end around the handle of the knife even as Sehun jumps back at the crack.

The knife skitters to a stop next to Yixing. With more calmness than he feels, he picks it up. Zitao and Lu Han have separated, and he knows that Lu Han still has a knife sheathed in his belt. Yixing is armed, and Sehun isn’t. Lu Han is breathing heavily – but so is he. The silence is unnerving, and as if on cue, Lu Han lets out a harsh scream as he throws himself at Sehun, the knife flashing in the morning sun as he pulls it out from his sheath. Zitao reacts half a second later and launches himself after Lu Han, and Yixing takes another second after that before he cuts in front of the taller boy.

He braces himself for the impact, but even so, the wind is knocked out of him as a tower of pure muscle crashes into him, and he’s tossed aside like so much trash. A quiet cry is wrenched out of him as the knife is kicked out of his hand, and then Zitao is on top of him, hands around Yixing’s throat. Yixing thrashes out, pummeling the other tribute in any way he can. Zitao grunts when one of Yixing’s blows connects solidly to his chin, but doesn’t let go. Zitao's fingers are a vice around his throat, and a small voice reminds him that he is still holding a whip, and that he doesn’t want to die. With a grunt, he manages to get the whip around Zitao’s neck. The other tribute’s eyes open wide in surprise when Yixing pulls, the cord tightening, cutting off Zitao’s blood supply and breathing just like Zitao is doing to Yixing. Zitao snarls and lets go to yank the whip free – Yixing uses the precious seconds to kick out at Zitao’s stomach, as air rushes back to his lungs, his throat burning. He drags himself away, knowing that Zitao is just behind him, trying to put as much distance between them as he can.

But.

There are moments in every person’s life when a single touch, a single look, a single sound can cause a shift that slides the world from under their feet. When the skies and the ground reverse their positions, when heaven and hell become one. There are moments that some people never experience, and moments that others experience over and over until the shattered world becomes a world within itself. There are moments, and this is one of them:

Lu Han’s choked cry as he clutches at the knife that protrudes from his chest with one hand, and Sehun slowly backing away from the growing pool of blood around Lu Han's feet. There is a look of horror on Sehun’s face, and Yixing wants to scream. _Why you!?_ but then – then he realises that Lu Han is pulling the knife out of his own body, and Sehun, Sehun doesn’t move when Lu Han growls, and with what looks like his last bit of strength, slashes forward as he falls.

 _Stick them with the pointy end_ , Yixing remembers, and he lets out a bitter laugh when Sehun falls backwards, blood gushing out from his neck like he’s a cow at slaughter, and Lu Han falls on top of him. Beside him, he hears Zitao’s strangled _“no!”_ even as he’s frozen to the spot.

He has never seen anyone die in front of him before. Now, he is watching two people die. There is a lot of blood. He has seen cows at slaughter and he has seen horses too old or lame to work put down so they could be eaten. He knows his mother died when he was three, but he does not remember this. He has seen people die in the Hunger Games, and he has seen people he loved die in the Hunger Games, but it is not like this. They tell you about the pain, they tell you about the numbness. They don’t tell you about the stench of blood, how it clings to your skin and your clothes and the inside of your mouth, and they don’t tell you about how fear and pain becomes so palpable in the air that you can taste it. They tell you about the sadness, but they don’t tell you about the helplessness. They tell you about regret, but they never tell you about the regret that comes from watching a person die before you have a chance to know them, and they don’t tell you about the regret that comes because you could have killed the person who killed them but you didn’t because you are weak and now this person is dead.

Except he’s not dead yet.

Lu Han rolls over, hand pressed uselessly to his wound, but there is a lot of blood, and it is not stopping. Lu Han isn’t dead yet, and Zitao sees this too, and again (again) Yixing sees Zitao see this, a second too late.

“Please,” he hears himself saying, only he’s crying and his limbs are heavy and weak and he doesn’t know where he finds the strength to get to his feet to push Zitao away, because Zitao takes the knife and stabs it into Lu Han’s stomach again, and again, and again before Yixing gets there, and with each thrust, Lu Han lets out a pained whimper, as if he can’t summon up the strength for anything more.

Lu Han’s eyes are squeezed shut, and there is blood everywhere. Yixing presses his hands to the fresh wounds, but it only pools more blood around his fingers, until they too are stained the same crimson that colours Lu Han’s. There are tears in his eyes, but none in Lu Han’s, and the heavy stone of guilt begins to settle in his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Yixing says. “I’m sorry.”

It seems inadequate. It is inadequate.

Lu Han has been kind to him. Now, Lu Han is dying because of him.

Lu Han’s eyes open, and they struggle to focus on Yixing’s face. “Why?” He says. “Someone...has to die.” He coughs, and blood colours the corner of his mouth. Yixing reaches up to wipe it away, but his hands are covered in blood too, and all he succeeds in doing is painting a crimson streak against Lu Han’s face. His skin has always been pale and fair, and in this moment, it is only more so.

Yixing shakes his head. “I...Sehun. I knew he was...found me...us.” The words come out between choked sobs, and he wishes he could stop crying. He wishes that there were no tears burning against his eyes, that his vision was not blurred not because he is hurt, but because he is crying and he couldn’t help. He wishes that he could explain why he was sorry, why this is his fault, why this is all his fault. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

There’s a hand on his, and Yixing looks down to see Lu Han clasp his fingers over his chest. There is a horrible, gaping wound right under their hands, and Yixing shakes his head desperately. “Maybe, medicine, from the Capitol—”

“Yixing.” Lu Han’s fingers tighten around his, and Yixing quiets. He looks away from the (horrible, fatal) wound, and into Lu Han’s eyes. They’re a soft brown, and very pretty, and unfocussed. Yixing swallows, ignoring the burn at the motion.

“You...told me...” Lu Han has to pause, catch his breath, and the rise and fall of his chest is becoming slower, less prominent. Yixing leans in to catch his words. Lu Han smiles, and Yixing thinks that this is all so unfair.

“If I died, I was going to tell you, you could eat me,” he blurts out, and to his surprise, Lu Han laughs, a small hitch of his chest and shoulders before he grimaces in pain.

“You don’t look like you taste very good,” Lu Han says. He grins. “Not enough meat.”

Yixing laughs too, an ugly burst through his tears, and everything feels too numb for this to be real. Lu Han’s hand is warm in his, and he doesn’t want it to end. “I wanted to be friends,” he says. “I didn’t want to kill you.”

Lu Han’s eyes fall shut slowly, and in the missed beat, Yixing hears the quiet murmurs of Zitao dissolve to silence. Lu Han stills, and Yixing clutches at his hands, willing him to open his eyes again. Lu Han blinks, slowly, and if he could make this moment last longer, he would. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

Yixing leans down, until his ear is next to Lu Han’s lips. “What?” He wishes he could phrase it any other way, this is too blunt. 

Lu Han’s last word is a quiet whisper, and then his hands fall slack in Yixing’s. Yixing bites his lips, and presses his face against Lu Han’s bloodstained chest.

“Thank you,” he says. Maybe, just maybe, Lu Han can hear him.

Lu Han's chest rises and falls one final time, and the boy from District Eight who people had expected to be a monster and had been paraded as a fawn becomes one of the first casualties of the 89th Hunger Games. There will be many more, because in the end, there will be only one, but for now, he is one of the first. There are words left unsaid and secrets left untold, and in that way, it is like every other death. The tribute from District Eight had not been one of those who had been picked to be one of the first to die, and in this way, it is a small surprise. The tribute from District Eight who had no parents and no one to mourn his death passes away in this way, his hands clutched tightly between someone who would have been his friend if they had not met in a game of death, but for fate to be seen as kind, it must display its cruelty in equal measures.

There are things he takes to the grave. Things like the quiet kisses he’d shared with Sehun. Things like twined fingers and soft smiles. Things like seeing Sehun kiss Zitao, and the way his fist had tightened as he’d walked away. Nor will Lu Han ever be able to tell Yixing that he had known Sehun had come looking for them, that he had seen them talk, and even if he hadn’t heard a single word, there was no way he could mistake the way Sehun had pushed Yixing against the wall and kissed him, or what it meant when Sehun had dropped to his knees, even if, once again, Lu Han had taken a step back, and then another, and walked away. He will never tell anyone again about the girl he’d once liked as a child, or tell anyone for the first time about the first time he’d kissed another boy. Nor will anyone know that secretly, in his heart, he would have liked to win too.

(And just like Lu Han will never be able to say that in the end, he hadn't wanted to kill Sehun after all, Sehun will never be able to explain that he'd stabbed Lu Han by accident. And the seed of regret that had settled in Lu Han's throat even before he'd used the knife stained with his own blood to open Sehun's jugular - that is a seed that will never have a chance to grow. Maybe, it's for the best. Because the audience doesn't want a story of children who understand too late the magnitude of their actions. The audience wants their deaths.)

Because the world is as cruel as it is kind, and during the past few weeks, Lu Han has found that sometimes, the world can be kind. 

There is the silent roar of helicopter blades, and Yixing, even though he was never an avid watcher of the Games, understands. He squeezes his eyes shut and squeezes Lu Han’s hands one last time, before he lets go and steps back.

Only then does he look up and see Zitao watching him, and he realises that Zitao could have killed him at any moment. Maybe he deserved it.

He doesn’t watch as the copters descend and remove the bodies. He’s watching Zitao, and Zitao is watching him. There will be no more killing here today, and they both know it.

 _The first death is the worst_ , they had said before the games had begun. _After a while, they get better. If you live._ At the time, Yixing had thought that they were wrong, that it would never get better.

But, as he picks up his discarded whip and walks off to retrieve their fallen supplies, he realises that he may have been wrong.

 _“Win.”_ Lu Han’s last word echoes in his mind.

He just doesn’t think that it can get any worse.

 

-

 

The taste of liquor better than anything he has ever had in his life lingers against his tongue. He leans over the railing of the balcony, withdrawing momentarily from the celebration, one last clamour as tributes desperately pander to the sponsors, in the hopes that they'll be able to live at least a day longer, because even one day may make the difference between life and death. He isn't alone, but he likes the illusion that he is.

Someone's watching, but someone always is.

Lu Han turns, pressing his back against the balcony instead. "Your odds are good," he comments.

Beside him, Yifan leans against the wall, hands in pockets and shoulders strong and broad. His hands, now hidden in the pockets of his suit jacket, are large, and had dwarfed the training staffs and everything else he'd held. On parade, he'd given off an easy air of confidence, a stark contrast to Lu Han's own soft, flowery image. In a few days, they'll both find out whether or not it works.

Yifan looks over at Lu Han's words. His eyes are sharp and piercing, accentuated by dark, angry brows, and Lu Han smiles back. 

He shrugs. "Yixing likes you," he says. "The tribute from ten."

An unreadable expression passes across Yifan's face. His mouth does something strange, and so do his eyes, before his lips stretch into a line. "So?" His voice is deep, and cold.

Lu Han shrugs again. "So I think I’ll be teaming up with him."

This time, Yifan's expression is undoubtedly one of surprise, before it melts back into impassivity. "You've seen his odds?"

"The odds are often wrong," Lu Han replies placidly. He smiles, and takes silent satisfaction as Yifan seems to sink into himself when Lu Han's lips part just enough to show off gum. "I'd watch your back, if I were you."

Before Yifan gets a chance to respond, Lu Han pushes past him, back into the noise and the glamour and the bustle, disappearing like this is the world he belongs in.

Days later, when he sees Lu Han's picture broadcast against the night sky, this is the conversation Yifan will remember. He sits up from the knots he's tying into a net, pausing to gaze up at the tribute from District Eight. He bends back to his task, and chuckles. " _Watch your back_."


	2. Chapter 2

The thunder of the cannon still reverberates through his fingers long after the sound itself has dissipated, and it seems an eternity later when Yixing stumbles to a stop. The straps of Lu Han’s bag are clenched in his fist as he clutches it to his chest, along with a package he has yet to examine. The world spins around him, and he drops to his knees.

It’s the muted crash of metal against stone that finally brings time and space back in line, his breathing harsh and rough as he stares down at his blood-stained hands. It’s not his blood. He’s not going to die. He’s not bleeding.

He rubs at his throat as he clambers back to his feet. He can’t stay here. He also can’t hold on to all of this. The extra weight of Lu Han’s bag would just bring him down, but at the same time, he can’t bring himself to throw it away. He wishes he still had the knife—

_the glint as the blade flashed down again, and again and_

—the bile rises in his throat, and Yixing chokes it down.

He doesn’t have to throw it away. He can hide it somewhere. He can hide everything he doesn’t need, and come back for it later. Later.

A few hundred feet away, next to a building, he spots what looks like a storage box, one of those with a sloping lid, like the ones back home they’d sometimes store the dry feed in. He drags himself over – he’s suddenly so, so tired. One foot in front of the other, until he leans heavily against the concrete wall. He hesitates – if someone sees, then this is all useless. But, he suddenly realises, if someone sees him, he’d probably be dead by now. With a half-hearted chuckle, he lifts the lid.

It’s not empty, but it’s not full either. He leans over, dragging a finger through the sand. Sand? He stands there for a moment, before he clambers awkwardly over the edge, and settles himself bag and all into the darkness as the lid falls shut over him. 

Dangerous or not, he’s asleep even before his eyes have fully closed.

-

He’s choking.

Yixing clutches at his neck, gasping for air. He can’t see. He can’t breathe. Zitao’s come back for him. His eyes pierce down at him through the darkness. No. No no no. Not like this. He won’t go down like this.

A scream tears through his throat, his fist lashing out, connecting with something heavily before it gives—

Light floods over him as he sits up. He gulps in air, eyes blinking furiously, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. Zitao is nowhere to be seen. Slowly, Yixing lets himself relax, leaning back down. He doesn’t remember falling asleep – he’d only meant to rest for a moment. The sun is already high in the sky.

Lu Han’s bag falls to his lap. The area is still as empty as it had been, but it might not be for long. Digging his fingers into the fabric, Yixing presses his face against it before he buries it deep into the sand under him. Acting quickly, he climbs out; his legs are stiff from a night of being cramped together in such a small space, and it takes him a moment to adjust. He throws the sponsor package into his bag. He needs to get away from here first. Closing the lid, Yixing leaves without a backwards glance.

It’s several seconds later before he feels an uncomfortable prickling at the back of his neck. Yixing slows and turns. There, in the distance, he sees someone try to make themselves as scarce as possible behind a pole, but they’re too big for it to work.

“If you come any closer,” Yixing says, his fingers reaching for the handle of the whip he’d tucked into his belt, “I’ll kill you.”

The shadow peels itself away and Yixing starts, lips curling up into a snarl. “I’ll kill you!”

Yifan stares at him impassively. There’s some sort of net draped over his shoulders, but other than that, his hands are strangely empty. Yixing watches him warily, waiting for him to make any sort of move.

"...I’ll kill you,” he repeats, only this time, it’s quieter, weaker.

Yifan’s eyes never leave his face. “No you won’t,” he says, and takes a step towards him. Yixing tenses, and takes a step back. Yifan walks towards him, his eyes smothering him in their steely impassivity, and Yixing finds himself frozen to the spot.

 _I’ll kill you_ , he tries to say, but the words refuse to leave his throat.

But Yifan only walks past him, their shoulders brushing as he passes, his footsteps slowly disappearing into the distance, leaving Yixing as alone as he feels. It takes all the strength he has not to slump to the floor.

 _I’d like to win_ , he’d told Lu Han a long, long, long time ago. But what he really meant, he realises far too late, is that what he wants more than anything, is to live.

 

-

 

 

It takes him a while, but Yixing eventually manages to figure out the odd, dangerous looking metal item in the package is meant to be attached to the end of the whip. It's very sharp. He's holed up in another classroom, and out of curiosity, he jerks the whip forward at a wooden cabinet. The metal end of the fall embeds into the wood with a dull thunk, and it takes him several tries to pull it out. It's heavier now, but it'll work.

He has food, and he has water, but it won't last forever. He's safe, for now, but, Yixing realises, this isn't going to win him this game. He'll win this minute, and maybe the next, but at some point, he has to stop sitting here. Lu Han's quip about prey and hunters comes to mind, and a shiver runs through Yixing's body. _Why be the prey when you can be the hunter?_ Lu Han had said, and look where that had gotten him.

But, it had gotten Yixing a weapon, and food. He stands and walks to the window, and looks up at the sky. It's a nondescript sky; a few clouds drift here and there. They've been lucky so far, no rain, no storms. But, last night, it must have been where they'd projected Lu Han's face, a signal of his death, a warning to the others. _You're next_ , he'd always thought it meant. But now he realises it also means that as long as it's something he can see, he's still alive. He hasn't lost yet.

It means he might still live.

-

He hears the footsteps first. It makes sense, because footsteps are loud. They also echo down empty hallways, bouncing off walls until he's not sure where's what, but he's fairly sure they're in front of him, and not behind him. The hall turns left ahead, just before the stairwell, and he can see the faint outline of a figure approaching in the reflection of the windows. Which means they must be able to see him too.

Yixing slowly unwraps the whip from his hand, swinging the end softly behind him. His heart isn't pounding; instead, it beats oddly soft, as if this is just another day on the farm. As if he's just taking a walk, playing target practice on the surrounding trees, just for fun. If he thinks hard, he can still feel the breeze against his skin, hear the wind in the leaves, but then it's all gone, and he's in an abandoned school, a deadly whip in his hand, and someone just as deadly ahead of him.

They're walking towards him. Maybe they can't see him? Just in case, Yixing presses himself against the wall. The metal end of the fall scrapes against the floor and he curses inwardly. He'd forgotten.

It doesn't seem to matter, because whoever it is doesn't stop. They don't look armed, but it's hard to tell. It's always hard to tell. Yixing holds his breath, swallows. It hurts. He rubs absentmindedly at his throat, a futile attempt to ease the burning there.

A few more steps, and then they'll come into view. They've already disappeared from view, but Yixing can guess the distance.

He shuts his eyes, takes a few steadying breaths.

When he opens them, Chanyeol is standing there.

Yixing blinks, slowly. "If you come any closer," he says, and this time, it sounds a lot calmer than he feels. He feels calm, though. Very calm. In fact, he's not sure he feels anything as he steps away from the wall, the metal tip of the whip scraping lightly against the floor. "I will kill you."

He recognises Chanyeol, because he's tall. He's almost as tall as Yifan, he's taller than Zitao. His hair, which had started out as a chestnut brown, falling down to messily frame his face, is wild and tangled now. At some point, it'd been a nest of orange curls; once, Yixing had seen him laughing at a joke one of the other tributes made, and he'd resembled a half-crazed poodle. A murderous half-crazed poodle. 

At the time, Yixing had thought he was simply dumb. Maybe unfair, considering what people said about him, but now, as Chanyeol approaches him, step by step, Yixing begins to understand why Lu Han had warned him away from Chanyeol. There's a faint smile on Chanyeol's face. One that says he doesn't want to hurt him. But his eyes give him away. His eyes unnerve him. His eyes make Yixing want to back away and run, until Chanyeol is nothing but a speck in the distance, but that's not how this works.

They're watching him.

 

_"You're a good kid."_

_"Sorry?" Yixing frowns across the table at Zhou Mi. His mentor looks tired, exhausted, his smile at odds with the lines around his eyes._

_"You're a good kid," Zhou Mi repeats. "Sometimes that helps."_

_"I don't understand." Yixing didn't. Not one tiny bit. Ever since he'd stepped up as a volunteer, as a tribute, he's been whisked through so many things he never knew existed, never knew could happen, and now Zhou Mi is telling him that he's a good kid, and that sometimes, it helped. He blinks. "How does it help?"_

_Zhou Mi taps Yixing on the forehead. "They're watching you," he says. "Everyone's watching you. What they want is a show. It helps to be cold-blooded and ruthless, but you're not like that. You're a good kid. You're not a coward. But, what matters is that they're watching you."_

_"They're watching me," Yixing echoes dumbly. "Me."_

_Zhou Mi nods. "That's right. And don't forget that."_

 

The memory strikes him as odd, but it's true. They're being watched. They're always being watched. So Yixing doesn't run. Yixing shifts his grip on the whip, watching warily, waiting for Chanyeol to get into range.

Chanyeol doesn't answer, nor does the smile fall off his face. Instead, he keeps walking. Yixing narrows his eyes, sets his jaw. The whip feels warm in his hand; he's been holding it for a while. Chanyeol's hand goes into his pocket—

He could have a gun. He could have a projectile.

Without a second thought, Yixing closes the last few steps he needs before Chanyeol comes into range, lashing the whip forward crudely as he runs. Chanyeol's eyes widen, but his arm comes out, meaning to stop the cord. If Yixing had been aiming for Chanyeol's neck, it would have worked. If Yixing had aimed, it would have worked. If Yixing - and Chanyeol - hadn't forgotten about the added weight, it would have worked, but instead, the end of the fall cuts down Chanyeol's arm instead.

Yixing hastily pulls the whip back, as Chanyeol stops and stares at the deep red gash running down his arm. Blood trickles slowly down to his elbow, but Chanyeol seems to ignore it, letting his arm fall back down to his side.

Yixing doesn't smile. "I’ll kill you," he repeats. His arm is shaking.

Chanyeol's smile only grows wider. "We'll see about that."

Yixing stumbles backwards as Chanyeol pulls his hand out of his pocket. If it was a gun, Yixing was dead. Unless he could get it out of his hand. He coils the whip back, waiting, just in case it's a...

Gluestick?

The confusion must show on his face because Chanyeol laughs. "That's right, it's just a glue stick, but whoever said it wasn't useful? You know, I think you and I could be friends. What do you think? We could be allies. You and Lu Han were a thing, but now Lu Han's dead, but you aren't. Which means you're stronger than you look. I'm stronger than I look too. So? How about it? Friends?"

Chanyeol sounds downright _cheerful_. Even friendly. Yixing swallows, the motion sending a sharp stab of pain through his neck. He reaches up to massage it, his fingers rubbing against the bruising of his vocal chords, his windpipe. Maybe Chanyeol is right. Maybe all Chanyeol wants is to be friends.

 _"He's not as dumb as he seems."_ Lu Han's words echo in his mind, and Yixing thinks that he was right. Even if Chanyeol isn't lying, and Chanyeol doesn't want to kill him right here and now, in a few days, who knows? In a few hours... Besides, Chanyeol had his choice of other allies. It didn't make sense.

Yixing takes a step back and shakes his head. "No," he says. "We can't be friends."

Chanyeol makes a face, mock wounded. "I'm hurt. Do you mean you don't like me?"

"I don't trust you," Yixing says.

Chanyeol just laughs, and puts the gluestick back into his pocket. "Maybe you're right," he says. And before Yixing has a chance to run, all six foot something of gangly limbs bowls down the hall his way. Yixing lashes out with the whip, but Chanyeol has gained too much distance and the whip skims uselessly off Chanyeol's side, just before Chanyeol is on top of him.

The first blow lands across his cheek. It snaps his head to one side, and Yixing stumbles backwards. He lashes out blindly, catching Chanyeol in the neck with the butt of the whip. Chanyeol takes a step back too, leaving Yixing with enough space to throw up his fists in defence. His face throbs, but now isn't the time for that. Chanyeol rubs at his neck, cracking it to one side. Yixing wonders if he should drop his whip - instead, he adjusts his grip so that the handle is reversed. He grits his teeth.

They strike at the same time; Chanyeol's punch catching him square in the shoulders, Yixing landing an elbow in Chanyeol's chest. There's no breather this time as Chanyeol gets an arm around Yixing's neck and slams a fist into the side of his head. Stars flash in front of his eyes and his ears ring. Yixing jams his elbow into Chanyeol's stomach again and again, trying to ignore the blinding pain in his head. He grunts, pushes away enough to drive a knee up into Chanyeol's crotch. Chanyeol hisses, his arms dropping instinctively down. It gives Yixing just enough time to shove Chanyeol back.

His chest heaves, and a trickle of something warm and wet runs down the side of his face. He doesn't need to look to know what it is.

Chanyeol is still grinning, and Yixing curses himself for ever thinking it could be friendly. His head is spinning. He remembers ranking near the bottom for hand-to-hand combat, but it's not something he can exactly avoid. He grits his teeth and steps back slowly. He needs space. More space.

Chanyeol is catching his breath too, hands on his knees, slightly bent over. The grin on his face looks a little pained. That's good. That means that Yixing hurt him. He's inched back far enough that there's enough space for his whip to be useful again. He's painfully aware that without someone to watch his back, at most, he can get in one, two shots, before he's stuck with nothing but his fists.

Chanyeol looks up at him, and there's a crazed glint in his eyes that sends every hair on Yixing's arm standing on edge. Yixing eyes his legs. If he can just bring Chanyeol down, then he'll have a better chance.

Yixing brings his arm back, and jerks in surprise when someone grabs it. "Get—" _off_! He growls and turns, striking out with his other fist, but Yifan dodges it easily.

Yifan? Yixing frowns.

"You're no match for him," Yifan says. When it's clear that Yixing isn't going to hit him, Yifan lets go of his arm. A few paces away, Chanyeol's eyes dart between the two of them, and to his surroundings. Yifan is a good half head taller than Yixing, and where Yixing is slight of build, Yifan's shoulders are broad, and his hands are large.

Chanyeol, however, straightens. He holds out his hands, palms up, as if in peace. "I'm unarmed," he says. "We talked, didn't we?"

Yifan narrows his eyes. "It's two against one, Chanyeol. And don't expect me to go easy on you."

It takes Chanyeol an extra moment to realise that Yifan is serious, an extra moment where Yifan rushes at him before Chanyeol's eyes widen even larger, and he takes off running, bursting through the doors and into the stairwell.

Yixing's legs suddenly feel weak. He feels light-headed. He is light headed. "Wait..." he calls out. He sinks to the floor, just as Yifan stops, and turns. Did he hear him? Is he going to kill him?

"I'm not going to kill you," Yifan says. The floor tiles are cool against his fingers. Yifan's shoulder is solid, as Yixing's head drops forward listlessly. It hurts. He's dizzy. Something clatters to the floor as his fingers go limp, and a part of him wonders if this is it, if after all that, this is the end.

It's warm, though.

And Yifan had said he wasn't going to kill him.

He could...trust him.

Right?

 

-

 

 

Yixing wakes up in a dark room. His head throbs painfully, accompanied by a sharp stabbing pain in his temple. The side of his face feels bruised and swollen, and his body aches. Everything hurts, and he lets out a quiet groan as he tries to sit up - but his hands are tied. Literally.

His breath catches in his throat as he panics. He jerks upright, but is pushed back down. He falls with a 'oomph', the breath knocked out of him as his back hits hard concrete.

"Relax," a deep voice says. "I'm not going to kill you."

Yixing groans something utterly incoherent. His tongue feels like it's stuck to his mouth. He gradually realises that the room isn't dark at all; he can see the faint outline of a person leaning over him through the blindfold. A quick test tells him that his ankles are tied too. Yixing swallows.

"Yifan?" he asks. His voice is dry and scratchy. "Why...?"

"It's me," the person says. Yifan says. He seems to sit down next to Yixing, and Yixing turns his head to face him.

What happened? He'd fought with Chanyeol, and then... "I'm not dead?"

Yifan chuckles dryly. "No, you're not. Now talk."

"Talk?" Yixing echoes. It comes out as a hollow rasp, and Yixing coughs in an attempt to clear his throat. The cough grows and swells until it feels like his lungs are going to explode, as he brings up his bound wrists to cover his mouth. There's a hand on his back that helps him sit up, and then the cool moisture of water against his lips. Yixing sips greedily, the water soothing the burn in his throat.

"Thanks," he manages. Yifan lowers him back down to the floor, gently this time. His mind races. Wouldn't it be easier if Yifan just killed him? Why is he doing this? Is he going to kill him later? Is he planning on using him somehow?

Yifan grunts an acknowledgement. "Talk," he repeats. "I don't know if I trust you yet."

Yixing laughs, short and bitter. "You've tied me up, and you don't trust me?"

"That's right, I don't," Yifan says. His voice is blunt.

"Then why did you save me?"

Yifan hesitates. "I didn't," he says. Yixing is about to cut in, but Yifan plows right over him with his words. "Lu Han was with you. But he's dead, and you're not. How?"

"Lu Han's...dead." Under the blindfold, Yixing squeezes his eyes shut. Some inexplicable pressure grips his chest so tightly he thinks it might burst. There'd been so much blood. So much. They'd meant to catch Sehun, alone. Zitao appearing out of nowhere. The knife. Sehun. The night before, Sehun on his knees in front—no no no, that was wrong, that was all wrong. Lu Han. How? How was he alive, but Lu Han wasn't, when Lu Han's odds had been so much better than his?

"I don't know," Yixing chokes out. "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know."

He clutches at his chest, curling up onto his side. It hurts, everything hurts. It's his fault, he's sure of it, he remembers the blood. Blood on his hands, the blood that had welled up unstoppably from the deep wounds on Lu Han's torso. Sehun—the spurt of blood as Lu Han had slashed at Sehun's neck. His skin had been pale. Lu Han's skin had been pale too. How? Sehun had stabbed him, when Zitao had been on top of him. There'd been so much blood. It hadn't stopped. There'd been blood everywhere. Blood where they'd fallen, a streak of blood across Lu Han's face - no, he'd put it there. That had been his fault. If he'd told Lu Han about everything that had happened, maybe...would Lu Han still be alive? Would Sehun still be alive? If...

The blindfold sticks uncomfortably against his skin, lukewarm and damp. Someone rubs circles against his back, as if this were a memory and he was eleven again, watching someone he knew fall to their death again and again, no matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut. Only this isn't a memory. This is the here and the now, and Yixing's wrists are tied in front of him.

Slowly, the choked cries subside, and his chest heaves with desperate, dry gulps for air. Time has passed, but he doesn't know how long. Maybe, only a few minutes. Maybe, a few hours. He's faintly aware of Yifan behind him, and he should turn and face him, but Yixing only curls up tighter into himself. "We were..." He begins slowly. His throat closes up, and Yixing swallows the lump. "We were together."

Yifan says nothing, and Yixing swallows again.

"We were together, and we...tried to kill Sehun."

"You succeeded."

Yixing shakes his head. "Zitao...Zitao was with Sehun. We didn't know." _I should have known_ , Yixing leaves out. _I should have._

Yifan seems to pause, before he speaks again. "There were two cannons. Sehun and Lu Han were both dead."

Yixing winces at those words, but nods. "Sehun stabbed Lu Han. Lu Han...he attacked Sehun's throat, but..." It was too late.

"Where were you?" Yifan presses. "What about Zitao?"

"He was trying to kill _me_ ," Yixing says. Something strikes him as funny, and he laughs dryly as he rubs at his neck, as if he can still feel Zitao's fingers against his throat. "And then Zitao stabbed Lu Han. Again. Again."

It sounds so simple when he spells it out like this. First this, and then this, and then this. Which led to this. And in the end, two people died. It sounds incomplete. No, it sounds complete, but without the acrid smell of blood, the desperate heaves for breath, the quiet noise of surprise Lu Han had made... It feels incomplete.

"There was a lot of blood," Yixing adds quietly. "A lot of blood."

He can hear Yifan breathing behind him. Slow, steady breaths. Regular. Just like his own. His heart pounds calmly in his chest, as if all is right in the world. He settles into the rhythm - one loud, one soft, a pause. Loud, soft, pause. Loud, soft, pause. It's easy. It's right.

He'd lost track of minutes, of seconds by the time there was the shift of movement behind him, and Yifan untied the blindfold and helped him sit up. Yixing blinked, and then squinted at the sudden influx of light. It was bright inside of the room after all. Yifan's face is impassive as he walks over to where Yixing's bag sits in a corner, along with Yifan's own. He sees his whip draped carelessly over a chair. It's only been a few days, but he already feels naked without it.

Yifan bends down and rummages for something, before he comes back. He crouches down in front of Yixing.

"Open," he commands, holding something in front of Yixing's mouth. Yixing hesitates before he complies, and Yifan places a small pill onto his tongue. He holds the water bottle to his mouth next, and Yixing swallows gratefully, wincing when the pill goes down his throat.

"Painkillers," Yifan explains as he caps the bottle. "They're yours. One of your eyes is fairly swollen, and I bandaged up the wound on your head, but it hasn't stopped bleeding yet."

"Thank you," Yixing says, and he means it. He hesitates, wondering if he should tell Yifan about his condition, but decides against it. If Yifan figures it out, he figures it out. There's no need to draw attention to it.

Yifan's expression doesn't change as he walks away and sits down on the other side of the room. Yixing hadn't noticed it at first, but now that Yifan picks it up, Yixing realises that what he'd initially dismissed as a pile of nothing is in fact a net. Yifan ignores him, his fingers tying more knots to the end of the net, making it even larger. His hands are large, and the work looks almost too delicate for his hands.

"Can you...untie me?" Yixing asks, when several minutes have passed. Yifan glances up at him, before he turns back to his work. That was a no, then.

Yixing pulls his legs up to his chest and loops his arms over them, leaning forward so his chin rests between his knees. It's easier to sit like this, and he's not sure he can sit back up if he falls. He feels like he should be more desperate, should be trying to escape, but despite his current vulnerability, it feels peaceful. He doesn't think Yifan is going to kill him.

"You carried me here, right?" Another glance, and this time, a nod. Yixing smiles to himself, pleased to have gotten a response out of the ice giant. It's a start. "Thank you, for carrying me. I'm not very light."

Something that may have been a shrug, but Yixing can't tell. "So you did save me," Yixing says. "If you hadn't taken me with you, I would have died for sure."

"You might still die," Yifan says without looking up.

Yixing shrugs, and then remembers Yifan can't see. "I know," he says. "Eleven of us will die. No, nine. Since..." _two people have died already._

Yifan puts the length of rope down and leans back against the wall. He raises an eyebrow. "You're not scared?" he asks.

Yixing pauses to consider this, even though he already knows the answer. He nods, and then he shakes his head. "I am scared," he confesses. "I didn't think I would be - actually, I thought I was going to die first, but I guess I was a little too afraid of dying. But...it's too late to be scared now."

"That's true."

"Are you...scared?"

There's a quirk of Yifan's lips that might have been construed as a smile if his eyes hadn't been so hard and bitter. "Who isn't?" he says. He nods towards Yixing. "How do you feel?"

"Huh?" Yixing frowns, taken aback. He wiggles his arms up as he gently touches the side of his face that had taken the most abuse from Chanyeol. It's tender, and it hurts, but it no longer feels brutally unbearable. He flashes Yifan a smile. "Better, thanks."

"Don't thank me, thank whoever gave you the painkillers," Yifan says.

"Thanks, whoever gave me the painkillers," Yixing repeats wryly. He thinks he sees Yifan smile, but he's not sure. Instead, he hugs his legs again, and looks up out the window. It'd been late afternoon when he'd run into Chanyeol, and the sun is still high in the sky. Yixing frowns.

"What time is it?" he asks.

Yifan shrugs. "Mid-day," he guesses. "Maybe afternoon."

"I was out for a day?" Yixing asks in surprise.

"Mmm."

If he was out for a day, then... "Did anyone else...die?" he asks. He's not sure if he wants to know the answer. Part of him hopes for it to be Zitao. Part of him wants Zitao to still be alive. Part of him wants to kill him. It's an alien feeling.

But Yifan shakes his head. "No," he says. Yixing waits for him to elaborate, but that's it. Well, Yixing supposes, that was all he'd asked.

"So there's still ten of us left," Yixing muses aloud. 

He wants to ask why Yifan hasn't killed him yet, and why Yifan didn't just leave him to be killed by Chanyeol ( _killed_ by Chanyeol, his mind emphasises. Killed. Dead. Forever. He pushes the thought aside.) Or leave him to die. He's just dead weight. He doesn't think Yifan will answer, though.

"Have you...run into anyone else yet?" Yixing asks instead.

Yifan grunts. Yixing thinks it's a yes, but it could be a no. He's not sure.

"Zitao has a knife," Yixing tells him. He thinks he's just filling in the silence now. "At least, I think he has a knife. Lu Han...Lu Han took it from Jongdae, but...I forgot it when..." Yixing trails off. It hadn't been that he'd forgotten it. He'd seen it lying there, and had turned away from it. It was a weapon, a weapon that had killed people. The thought of touching it had brought the bile rising into his throat. The thought of it now does the same, and he forces the nausea back down. "Chanyeol...has a gluestick. But I don't know what else he has."

Yifan doesn't react to any of this; he only continues to tie knots in his net.

Yixing blinks. "Oh, that's right. That first night, Lu Han found a working tap. The water seemed safe to drink." Unless Yifan had gotten water too, he knows that the two bottles he'd started with were probably mostly gone by now. The reminder that he'd wasted water with his tears hits him sharply, and he grimaces. He can't cry. Not again. That had been a mistake. He's not a kid anymore.

Yifan is staring at him, Yixing realises. "The water?" Yixing queries, and Yifan nods. It's a jerky motion. Yixing hesitates, as he tries to come up with directions. "We were..." That morning, they'd gone away from the sun, which meant it had been east of where the two of them had died. The doors had been blue, but lots of the doors had been blue. There had been two sets of doors, and a lot of glass windows in between them. Stumbling over his words, Yixing tries to describe the place to Yifan. It takes a couple of tries, but he's rewarded when something seems to light up behind Yifan's eyes.

"I know the place," he says roughly. He reaches for a bag and stands.

"What about me?" Yixing asks. He looks up. Yifan looks even taller from here. Yifan frowns.

"You stay here," he says. "Just in case."

Yixing raises his bound hands. "What if someone comes? I'll die."

Yifan's frown only deepens. He stands for a moment longer before he strides over with long steps and bends down to untie the rope around Yixing's ankles. He grabs Yixing's hands and pulls him to his feet. Yixing's legs feel like jelly, and he stumbles, nearly crashing back down again if Yifan hadn't caught him. 

"I can't take you with me," Yifan says. He's speaking more to himself. Yixing's vision slowly comes back to him, and he shakes his head slightly to clear it.

"I'm okay," he says. He pushes away from Yifan's support, and nearly falls again, but catches himself in time. Yixing shrugs as he takes a step back. "I want to come with you. I won't hold you back, I promise. If I do, don't worry. You've already helped me enough."

"Which is why it'd be a waste for you to die now," Yifan mumbles under his breath. Yixing doesn't think he's supposed to hear, but he does, and he can't stop the smile that appears on his face.

Yifan leaves Yixing standing in the middle of the room as he grabs Yixing's bag as well. He glances at the bag, the whip, and Yixing's still bound hands before he quickly tosses the whip into the bag as well, and slings both bags over his shoulders.

"I could carry it," Yixing says. Yifan silences him with a look, leaving Yixing to jog after him. Yifan's back is broad, and for the first time since Lu Han had died, Yixing feels like he might have a chance.

 

-

 

Yifan's secret base turns out to be just a few minutes from where he and Lu Han had spent the first night. Yixing keeps a nervous watch as Yifan refills the water bottles, but no one approaches. But just in case they're being followed, Yifan leads them on a roundabout path back.

Yifan also turns out to have made a map. As far as he can tell, he’s covered most of the arena – including many places Yixing hasn’t been. Yixing has to squint to make out where the paths end and where the buildings start, but Yifan seems to have no problems reading it. It's a good idea, and one Yixing wishes he'd had. It's a little too late for it now.

They don't talk much, not until they're safely back inside. And even then, Yifan isn't the most talkative person.

Yifan is nervous. He's been watching him for a while now, because he has nothing better to do, and as the light falls and it becomes too dark for Yifan to see the knots he's tying, he still fiddles with the length of rope. He's nervous, and he's giving his hands something to do. It makes sense. If Yixing were in his place, he'd do the same. Probably.

His butt is starting to get numb from sitting cross legged, and Yixing shifts again. Yifan is wrapping and unwrapping rope around his fingers absentmindedly, but it's the most focus he seems to be giving anything else in the room.

"Food..." Yixing says. The silence shatters, and Yifan looks up in surprise. "There's food in the bag," Yixing tries again.

Yifan grunts. "I know."

"You aren't going to eat any?" Yixing asks.

Yifan just shrugs.

Sunset these days always seems to take forever to come, but once it's started, it changes from warm to cold in an instant. Shadows lengthen and lights dim, colors fading into a myriad of greys as shapes are swallowed and corners become dull. Yixing feels like he should feel scared. Instead, he welcomes it. It envelops him; them. All Yixing can see of Yifan is the shape of his shoulders and the constant movement of his hands. The glint of light against his eyes tell him that Yifan is watching him. Or watching something.

"You're not going to sleep?" It's dark by the time Yixing asks this. Yifan seems to look at him, and then look away, but Yixing can't be sure.

"It's fine."

The rope chafes uncomfortably against his wrists in a reminder. "You still don't trust me," Yixing says.

Yifan jerks at the accusation; small, but visible. Yixing bows his head in acknowledgement. It makes sense.

Yixing lies down on the floor and curls up. It'd be nice to have a blanket or something, but with his already limited lifespan being counted down on an unseen clock, a blanket isn't high on the list of priorities he should have. Yifan is still sitting up, leaning against the wall. His hands have stilled, now. If it weren't that Yixing could see his eyes, he would have thought Yifan had fallen asleep.

It's peaceful in a way it shouldn't be peaceful. Quiet in a way it shouldn't be quiet. He'd always imagined the hunger games to be one continuous reel of bloodshed and death, but then he remembers that he is one person, and for the people watching, there are twenty four. Or were. Now, there's only nine. For all he knows, someone somewhere is fighting, is dying, and any moment, the sound of the cannon will tear through the air, and it will no longer be peaceful. Yixing can't know.

It makes this moment, this particular moment, even more at ease.

 _"I like Yifan,"_ he'd said to Lu Han. It feels like a lifetime ago. That had been before they'd stepped into the arena. That had been before Lu Han had been dead. That had been before he'd met Yifan, again.

Oh. That's right. _I’ll kill you_. He'd said those words to Yifan, hadn't he? No wonder he doesn't trust him anymore. Yixing looks down at his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers into a fist. He imagines a knife grasped in them, the end of a whip, the handle of a frying pan. He imagines driving the blade into someone's chest, stomach, neck. Wrapping the lash around someone's throat, or flicking the end and slicing their jugular, like Lu Han had done to Sehun. Imagines bashing their head repeatedly, until they finally fell still.

He imagines it, and fails. It's hard to imagine. It's easy to say. It's harder to do.

"I didn't mean it," he says aloud. He's still staring down at his hands, although by now, it's dark enough that he can barely see the outline of them unless he concentrates.

"Didn't mean what?"

"I didn't mean it when I said I'd kill you."

"I know."

"...Oh."

That makes sense too. Yifan had ignored him at the time; had just walked closer, and then walked past him. Chanyeol had ignored him too. But Chanyeol hadn't walked past him. Chanyeol had walked - ran - straight for him. His head hurts, but Yixing tries not to think about it. Thinking about it won't make it hurt less. It'll only make it hurt more.

He must have dozed off to sleep, because the next thing he remembers is jerking awake. Yifan's eyes are still open.

"You're not sleeping," Yixing says.

Yifan slowly turns to look at him, his eyes two pinpoints of light. "No."

Yixing squirms upright, and walks the few steps to where Yifan is sitting. He sits down next to him, maintaining a careful handspan of distance between them. Yifan tenses, but soon relaxes. Yixing leans back and stares at where Yifan is staring, but there's nothing there. He says so.

Yifan grunts a vague response. 

"Are you waiting for something?" Yixing asks. "I’ll wait for you."

"Don't trust you," Yifan says. His words are short and terse. Yixing ignores it.

"I'm useless in a fight right now," he points out wryly. "It's in my best interest for you to get through tonight alive."

It's a fair point, and a selfish one. But Yifan begins to waver. He's tired, because who wouldn't be tired?

Yixing does his best to pat him on the shoulder. It's an awkward two handed pat, but unless Yifan unties him, it'll have to do. He's never been a touchy sort of person, but right now, the contact seems needed; a reminder that yes, all this is real. That yes, he's not alone. He's lucky, he realises with a jolt. He's not alone.

"Go back to sleep," Yifan says.

Yixing shakes his head. "If anything happens, I’ll wake you up."

"I'd rather not be asleep to start with."

Yixing heaves a deep sigh. "Did you spend the past few nights awake too?" he asks. Yifan hesitates and then shakes his head. "Look, I know you're worried I'm going to kill you in your sleep or something, but I don't think I could do it even if I wanted to. Whatever I use, you'd wake up before I did, and you're bigger than me, and you're not...hurt."

Yixing leaves out the part where his hands are still tied, because he thinks Yifan remembers.

"You might run away," Yifan says. "You might tell someone where I am."

Yixing shakes his head, but Yifan isn't looking at him. "No," he says aloud. He sighs, and prods Yifan's foot with his own. "If you're so worried, you can tie me up again."

Yifan does turn to look at him this time, and he stares at him for so long that Yixing wonders if there's something on his face. And then Yifan laughs. It's a bewildered laugh, and it's surprised, and Yixing giggles a little because Yifan's laughter surprised him. "You're...weird, you know that?" Yifan asks. He leans over, and Yixing thinks that Yifan's going to tie his ankles together again after all and regrets not stretching his legs more. Instead, he undoes the knot that holds his wrists together.

Yixing stares at him. "Don't you not trust me?" he asks.

Yifan shrugs, his face back to the same impassive mask. "You're right that I should sleep," he says.

Yifan closes his eyes, crosses his arms across his chest. It hadn't been a very tight knot, but even so, Yixing rubs his wrists as blood flows freely through to his hands and fingers again. It tingles. Everything tingles.

Yifan looks vulnerable like this. Incredibly so. Looks easy to kill.

Yixing swallows. That's what he'd thought about Lu Han, and then...

As if reading his mind, Yifan cracks open an eye and looks at him. "It's normal to grieve," he says.

Yixing wants to ask him what he means, but Yifan's eye closes and so does the window of opportunity.

The thing is, he knows what Yifan means.

It's normal, but the hunger games is anything but normal. So he watches the slow rise and fall of Yifan's chest, and tries very, very hard not to think about a different young man who Yixing would never see again.

 

-

 

They split an energy bar between them in the morning. There's one left, and it's a problem.

Yixing had shaken Yifan awake mid-night, when he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open any longer. He'd also felt horribly weak and dizzy, but this, he didn't say. Even now, the light headedness stays, but he shoves the feeling down as he follows Yifan through the arena. 

It'd been too peaceful, Yifan had said. He didn't like it.

Secretly, Yixing agrees. Other than Sehun and Lu Han's deaths, the cannons had been suspiciously silent. He'd watched the hunger games too. In preparation. He'd sat down, and gone through as many of them as he could. If it was peaceful, then the organisers had something up their sleeves. Always. It's not good for things to be too peaceful. Makes things boring. And goodness knows that boring was the last thing the hunger games could be.

"It's either something big, or someone," Yifan murmurs. Yifan still isn't given much to talking. Maybe, Yixing thinks, it's because he's shy. 

"They could always release flesh eating bugs," Yixing quips.

"That's not funny, don't joke about that," Yifan says. He turns, speaks quieter. "Don't give them ideas."

Yixing blanches. He hadn't thought about that.

A sudden wave of nausea and dizziness hits him, and Yixing stumbles, falling before he can catch himself. His knees hit the ground a split second before he breaks the fall with his hands, roughened stone scraping away the skin from his palms. He grits his teeth and gets back to his feet.

Shakes his head. "I'm okay," he says, before Yifan has a chance to ask. Yifan has an arm looped around his shoulder, and Yixing wants nothing more than to sag against him. His vision slowly comes back from black, and he grimaces.

"You've lost more blood than I thought," Yifan says quietly.

Yixing looks sharply at him, eyes wide. His swollen eye twinges unhappily, and Yixing clenches his jaw. He touches a hand gingerly to his head. He wishes he could be surprised when he finds that the bandage is soaked through. 

"I'm fine," he repeats. Yifan looks worried. His brows come down at sharp angles when he looks worried. It's almost scary, but Yixing knows that when Yifan looks scary, he looks different. Not worried.

Yixing pulls away and strides ahead, leaving Yifan to catch up in long steps in no time. Yifan overtakes him, because after all, Yifan is the one with the map. He slows, lingers by Yixing's side for a few paces. Leans over.

"You're still bleeding," Yifan whispers. His breath tickles against Yixing's neck, and he jerks away. He doesn't stumble this time.

He swallows, looks down guiltily. "I'm sorry," he says.

Yixing notices a moment too late that Yifan has stopped, and doesn't stop in time to avoid crashing into him altogether. Yifan turns slowly, and looks down at him. He's frowning. "Why?" he says. "You're sorry for bleeding?"

Yixing hesitates, shakes his head. "Sorry I didn't tell you," he says. He pushes past Yifan in quick short steps. He's a liability. "It's alright if you don't want me around."

Yifan grabs him by the arm, stops him, and then pulls him along with him. His hand is a vice around his upper arm, and it reminds Yixing uncomfortably of Zitao's grip. His fingers rub against his throat.

"An extra pair of eyes is better than none," Yifan says. "But if you get hurt again..."

"I know," Yixing says. He chuckles. "No one expected me to live past the first few anyway. I'll be fine by myself."

Yifan shakes his head. "That's not what I meant. Unless your sponsors feel like you're worth saving, I'm doubt you'll live if you lose much more blood."

Yixing falls silent. Yifan is being nice to him. Too nice. "I know," he says again.

They don't speak for a long time after that. Yixing's not sure what Yifan is looking for, but from the location of the sun overhead, Yixing knows they've changed directions several times. Every now and then, Yifan will take out his map and make a mark on it.

At one point, they near someone - or several someones. But they seem as skittish as they are, because they never show their faces, and Yifan pulls them still behind a building.

It's peaceful.

"I'm worried," Yixing voices eventually. "Where is everyone?"

Yifan shrugs. "Two down, ten left. Eight people we could find." He grimaces. "For all we know, all eight could be together."

"Seven," Yixing says. Yifan looks at him. "Seven, because we just saw at least one."

"Mm."

They pass by what looks to have been a shop at one point. Looks like, because the building has been well ransacked, every nook and shelf having been overturned. They go in anyway, picking their way through the shattered glass, just in case.

Whoever had been here before them had been fairly thorough. Yifan salvages several more lengths of rope, some sort of fiber that Yixing can't place the name of. Yifan had run it through his fingers and nodded appreciatively, so Yixing had guessed that he knows what it is. 

"You're from the fishing district, right?" Yixing asks.

Yifan grunts. A yes. 

"Are we going fishing?" 

Yifan fixes him with a long stare. "Something like that," he says.

"I’ve never been fishing," Yixing muses thoughtfully. "There was a river in our district, but I don't know if there were fish."

"Where there's water, there's fish," Yifan says.

"Is there water here?" Yixing asks hopefully.

Yifan shakes his head. "Nothing with fish," he grunts. "I checked."

"Oh," Yixing says. "I would've liked to go fishing." 

Yifan laughs, a short, sharp burst. It's wide and gummy, and suddenly, he's not scary at all. His face contorts, and it's not perfect; even so, it's the most welcoming sight Yixing has ever seen.

"You should smile more," Yixing says, and not for the first time, he thinks it would've been nice to have been friends.

Yifan seems to read his mind: "if we ever got out, I'd take you fishing," he says. It's an impossible thought, but maybe, that's what makes him smile.


End file.
